


Maybe I’ll Just Forget About You

by serotoninwife



Series: Maybe We Just Don't Talk About It [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, I do everything on mobile so this is gonna look like it’s not a sequel for a wee bit, Pregnancy, Time Hops, Unplanned Pregnancy, alcoholic!robert, also I modeled Max after Mark Ruffalo, also! there’s a corresponding song for every chapter after this one!, and also the accents are english unless otherwise specified (ahem max and the robinsons), as with Maybe We Just Don’t Talk About It, but bear with me, but the flashbacks HOOO BABY, but we see him get sober, ella doesn’t know how to take birth control, idk - Freeform, is it bare with me?, i’ve never done a playlist inspired fic before, let’s see how this goes!, like. multiple times., multiple unplanned pregnancies, my visualization was all fucked up trying to imagine him with an English accent, not exactly a slow burn?, present day is pretty quick, so he starts as, so pleathe just ignore everything you know about geography, so that’s exciting, so that’s why he’s American lmao, sober! robert, that’s a slow burn, this fic is like imagining westeros and essos working in tandem with the real world
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:07:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22312234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serotoninwife/pseuds/serotoninwife
Summary: Maxwell Alexander Robinson was a big kid in the neighborhood back home, but he wasn’t big enough to fight, despite the fact that he was bigger than the other eight year old boys. Dad always said that he’d teach him to fight after he’d had his first real scrap, because that would mean that he needed to know so he wouldn’t get beat up.As it turned out, his first real scrap happened with a skinny little blonde girl after he had just moved into their new house in the Vale.And he lost.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters (Background), Eddard Stark/Catelyn Tully (background), Ella Waters (oc)/Original Male Character, Ella Waters (oc)/Robert Baratheon, Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Robert Baratheon/Cersei Lannister (secondary)
Series: Maybe We Just Don't Talk About It [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1609882
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	1. The Secret Cottage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [youwouldbemylady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youwouldbemylady/gifts).



> Hi guys!  
> So this is a sequel to “Maybe We Just Don’t Talk About It”. I do everything on mobile, so it won’t be showing up as a series for a bit, but I’ll hop on that pretty soon. I loved writing that fic so much that I had to expand the universe and so here we are! Check out my tumblr for edits, updates, extra content, etc.  
> Enjoy the first chapter!

**July, 1983**

Maxwell Alexander Robinson had lived in America his whole life, and eight years was, after all, a pretty long time. He was a whole five years older than his sister, Sally, who was only three. He was a big kid in the neighborhood back home, but he wasn’t big enough to fight, despite the fact that he was bigger than the other eight year old boys. Dad always said that he’d teach him to fight after he’d had his first real scrap, because that would mean that he needed to know so he wouldn’t get beat up.

As it turned out, his first real scrap happened with a skinny little blonde girl after he had just moved into their new house in the Vale.

And he lost.

He had been skipping rocks along a stream in the small strip of forest on move-in day when he first spotted the little house. It looked something like a cross between a cottage and a tree house— its walls were made with wood panels, the roof was made with terra cotta shingles, and it had some old looking curtains drawn over four small wavy glass windows. The door was old and had white paint peeling off of it, and Max went ahead and peeled off a strip for Sally, because she might like to play with it later. His curiosity got the better of him, (Mom always told him that curiosity killed the cat, but he could never remember having a cat, so it didn’t matter to him) and he opened the door by the little round brass handle and stepped into the little cottage.

Rays of sunlight snuck in between the old curtains and shined on the dust in the air. It was one room, the wooden floors covered in oriental carpets. There was a small wooden table by the wall that had some bags of chips and snacks on it, and right next to the table were old looking wooden chairs. Max counted two bean bags, seventeen magazines, one bookshelf, thirty two books, one night stand, one bunk bed, three regular lamps, two lava lamps, one record player, one cassette player, and one television. He was looking through the record collection (which was all in one cardboard box), and was finding records by strange bands like Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, Def Leppard, Van Halen, Aerosmith, Queen, and Elton John ( _that one_ he knew) when he heard the door open behind him. Max whirled around to find a skinny little girl with big blue eyes and blonde hair standing in the doorway, some mixture of surprise and anger on her face.

“What are you doing here? Did my mum send you from the church?” The girl demanded. Max didn’t know how to answer.

“I’m— I’m just looking— I’m sorry, I didn’t know anyone lived here, I’ll go—” He said, and in his hurry to get out of the little cottage, he knocked over a record (one by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts) and it made a breaking sound. He froze, embarrassed and afraid, halfway between the record player and the doorway, when he looked up at the girl, who looked _beyond_ angry now.

“Oh you’ll be sorry now you fucking prick!” She screamed before running towards him at full speed.

Max didn’t even have time to process what was happening until she had already punched him in the face three times with a surprising amount of force. Max was crying when he felt somebody pulling her off of him. It was an older boy, about thirteen or so, and he looked a lot like the girl.

“Calm down, Ella! What the hell are you doing to this poor kid?” The boy asked, scolding her. The girl, now identified as Ella, frowned heavily before jerking her skinny arms away from his grasp.

“Gendry, he broke our Joan Jett record!” She hissed. The older boy, who Max assumed was called Gendry, eyed the broken record, a larger shard peeking out from behind the album cover proving Ella’s accusation correct, before helping his new neighbor off of the ground.

“I’m sure you didn’t mean to break the record, yeah?” The boy asked, and Max shook his head in earnest as he wiped his tears off of his cheeks. The boy nodded. “It’s alright, don’t fret yourself over it. My sister can be a bit rash sometimes, but that’s what I’m here for, to calm her down. My name’s Zach Waters.” The boy was kind, and had even outstretched a hand for Max to shake.

“I’m Max Robinson. I’m sorry about your record. I’ll get you a new one!” Max insisted, looking over Zach’s shoulder at Ella. She was still scowling, but she decided to shake his hand anyways.

“Ella Waters. I’ll hold you to that.” At this, Zach slapped the backside of her head, earning a brief exchange of looks between the blonde siblings before Ella looked down at her feet in shame. “I’m sorry for hitting you.” She mumbled. Max then offered her a smile.

“It’s okay. If you’d let me, I could bring some of my cassettes and records over.” Max said, hoping to use it as an olive branch (he has just learned that idiom in school before moving for Mom and Dad’s work). Ella and Zach exchanged a look before she began to speak to her older brother.

“Gendry, what if he tells Mum or someone from the church? We could lose all of our music _and_ videos _and_ books.” Ella said, her voice low, but not a whisper. Max furrowed his brows as Zach seemed to think on it.

“Ella, why don’t you run home? Mum’ll need you to bring the food over to the new neighbors and we don’t want her to come looking for you. I’ll talk to Max here, yeah?” Ella nodded at her brother’s proposal, giving one last look at Max before heading out of the cottage and running through the forest back to her home.

“Why does she call you Gendry?” Max asked as the two boys watched Ella running away so as to make sure she was safe. She was wearing blue jeans and a loose white shirt, one that Max’s mom always said that “hippies” wore. Max didn’t know was a hippie was, but he assumed they had, like, _really_ big hips or something. Zach’s voice brought his attention back.

“It’s a nickname, short for my middle name. My full name is Zachary Genderson Waters. Genderson was my mum’s last name til she married my dad. Lots of people see it written out and think it’s pronounced with a soft g, so when Ella was little and just learning to read, she’d call me Gendry just to make sure that people got it right. You could call me Gendry if you’d like, but I do prefer Zach.” He explained, confident enough with his sister’s distance to turn back and close the door.

“I’ll call you Zach then.” Max decided. Zach smiled warmly before inviting him to sit down at the table.

“So, you see Max, Ella and I found this place about a year ago right after our dad died, and we’re real lucky it’s in as good of shape as it is. But we keep all our good music here, all of our good movies on VCR, and all of the books that our mum wouldn’t approve of. You see, she’s just joined this church, one that Ella and I rather dislike, and it’s very strict on what people can and can’t watch or listen to or read. And they tell my mum that the only good things for kids to watch are Billy Graham televangelist programs, the only good things to listen to are hymns, and the only good things to read are the books of the bible. So ever since our dad died and all sense of parental reason left our home, we’ve been keeping all of our contraband in here. So if you wanna bring your music and your books, you have to swear to never, _ever_ tell our Mum. Understood?” Zach asked, his blue eyes very serious. Max nodded before sticking out his hand.

“I won’t even tell my parents.” He promised. Zach smiled before patting his back.

“Then I think you and I will get along _brilliantly._ ”

+

**December, 1992**

Ella was running out of money.

She’d gotten tuition and room and board costs covered by Vhagar College as an exceptional young student with a compelling essay about how the death of her father impacted her mother’s spiral into a hyper-christian cult and how she had made it through the years on music and media that were all about sex, drugs, and rock ’n roll. And she had saved up a good deal before leaving home for King’s Landing, but she still needed books, she needed to pay for gas, her car had just sprung a flat, and she was barely past the first semester. 

She could always go back home, live with the ghost of her mother who was currently possessed by the same charismatic preachers who had swept her up all those years ago in promises of an eternal life beyond death where she could reunite with her dearly departed husband (at the cost of $1,000 a month in congregational dues).

Zach might let her stay at his apartment, but there was only one bedroom, and she couldn’t think of what she might do in the city of Eyrie.

She supposed that she could always just squat in the old cottage in the woods, spend her days listening to rock ’n roll, reading the works of Vonnegut, Poe, and all the other great American authors that her mother hated. But she’d have to deal with facing Max after the incident that had occurred the night before she’d left. She knew that he would be back home for winter break, and she knew that he’d go back to the cottage, the two of them had practically grown up in that old shack. She hated that the name of her lifelong best friend left a bitter taste on her tongue these days, but she couldn’t change the past.

So, with all her other options being far too unsavory, Ella had decided to stay in King’s Landing during the break and rent her own apartment. What she had to focus on right at that moment was getting a job that would bring in a good deal of money so she could afford that.

So, there she was, a sweet, blonde girl raised by a strictly christian mother in the forested mountain countryside of the Vale, in a dive bar called _Littlefinger’s Pub and Diner_ in the projects of King’s Landing, interviewing with the owner, Davos Seaworth, who had just dropped her resumé on the bar after skimming through it, with his hands up in the air. He was an older man, about fifty, with a full salt and pepper beard, a full sleeve of tattoos on his right arm, and a good deal of hair still on his head. He might have been attractive if he didn’t look terribly like her old neighbor, Mr. Robinson. Too weird.

“You don’t have any experience as a bartender. You can only work weekends and Thursdays. You have zero job references. Why the fuck should I hire you?” Davos asked. She didn’t know if he was asking rhetorically or not, but maybe it was just her stubborn sense of willfulness that prompted her to respond.

“You should hire me because I can mix more cocktails than you’ve ever heard of in under a minute, I can handle my liquor better than Grigori Rasputin, I’m always just as punctual as I was with this interview, I’m a lovely conversationalist, and I know how to fix that old record machine of yours collecting dust over in the corner. And if that’s not enough to convince you, I’m persistent and I won’t just go looking for another job. This is ideal because it’s ten minutes from my dorm at Vhagar and I’ve been looking to meet some new people in the area.” She finished, straightening her black leather jacket, hoping to any and all gods out there that he didn’t just throw her out on the spot for her gall. Luckily for Ella, he raised his eyebrows with surprise and impress.

“You’ve got balls, kid. Now I’ll grab my tool kit and you can fix up my jukebox, and if it can play, then you’ve got yourself more than just a pair; you’ve got yourself a job.” He said, moving out from behind the bar into a back room. Once he had disappeared behind the door, Ella allowed her face to erupt into a smile and she cheered as quietly as she could until Davos came back out with a red toolbox. Together, they walked over to the jukebox that had a paper sign reading **out of order** on it and she got to work. Three minutes later, she plugged in the cord to an outlet and selected _I Love Rock ‘N Roll_ by Joan Jett, and inwardly reveled when the opening notes of electric guitar began to ring throughout the pub. Davos nodded his head, very clearly impressed before turning back to Ella.

“Alright, Ella. You start Friday at five. Don’t be late.” She smiled and shook Davos’s hand before exiting the bar.

 _Don’t be late_.

And over the course of the next thirty years, she would only be late to her shift at the bar seven times.


	2. The Irony of Imperfect Timing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ella comes home from camp and Max notices some differences.  
> A while later, Max stumbles upon Ella at the bar and notices some differences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Fat Bottomed Girls_ \- **Queen**

**August 9th, 1989**

Ever since August of ‘87 when Zach had moved off to Arryn University in the city of Eyrie, summers had been pretty boring. Ella almost _always_ got to the music first, so Abba and the Beatles and all the campy Elton John got tossed to the wayside when she was home. It had been a rule since they were nine that whoever got to the record and cassette players first got to pick the music in the cottage until they left, which caused them to install a second rule which not only allowed but encouraged sabotage. But Ella was still away at that horrid church camp that her mom forced her to attend, and she’d been gone since June fifth. The fourth of June had involved the two of them lying down on the beanie bags, staring up at the ceiling while the Abbey Road album record played melancholy tunes. Ella had listed all the things she’d think about during the daily hour dedicated to silent prayer, which included topics of (but were not limited to) animal sacrifice, sodomy, playboy centerfolds, cigarettes, pot, the devil himself, Marilyn Monroe’s tits, pin up girls, pornography, and virgins sacrificing themselves to Satan. Max managed chuckle after chuckle, but the thought of not seeing his very best friend for three whole months was, as they say, utter fucking shit.

Max Robinson’s days as of late had consisted of mowing lawns, life guarding at the local swimming pool, learning to drive, and flirting with Macy Fraser. She liked watching him mow her father’s lawn shirtless, he liked watching her sunbathe. It was a symbiotic relationship. He supposed it was something for human interaction, but he still felt lonely as all hell at the end of every day. Sally was only ten and spent her days at horse riding camp, so he could hardly make good company within the gene pool. He tried to enjoy his Abba and his Simon & Garfunkel in the cottage, he tried to enjoy the horror movies on vcr, but it just wasn’t the same by himself. Max even got to a point of missing his best friend’s company so much that he took one of Ella’s Def Leppard cassettes to listen through his walkman while mowing the Frasers lawn. He would _never_ tell Ella that he actually liked it, for she would never let him live it down.

So when Max was walking to the cottage on the ninth of August, three days before Ella was supposed to arrive back home, it took him by great surprise to hear the opening lines of “Fat Bottomed Girls” by Queen coming from inside the shack. A grin erupted across his face before he ran up to the door, ready to tackle Ella to the ground in a hug as soon as he’d opened the door, but he was absolutely _not_ prepared to see what he did.

There she was, right in front of the record player, blonde hair hanging down her back, dancing and swaying to the beat of the song just as she always did. Except something had happened over the three months that she was away at church camp, and that something had left her looking _different_.

Ella has always been a skinny and gangly kid, but now she was... _fuller_ , more shapely, and Max couldn’t help but stare because _god damn._

Towards the end, there was a brief break in the song and Max was able to snap himself out of his trance long enough to speak.

“No hug for your very best friend in the whole wide world?” He jabbed, the ease of their dynamic flooding back in an instant. Ella turned around, a wide grin erupting on her face as soon as she saw him.

“MAX-ATTACK!” She shrieked, running towards him before jumping into his arms, the two friends embracing fiercely as the final notes of the song played out. He set her back down on her feet before stepping into the cottage and closing the door behind him, Ella dropping down onto a bean bag, grabbing onto his hand as he dropped on the one next to hers.

“Jesus fucking christ, I missed you _so_ much. If I had to hear some straight edge talk about eternal salvation one more time I would’ve offed myself!” She groaned. Max laughed as he snuck another glance at her. _Had that shirt always been so tight?_

“Tell me about it. Life here hasn’t been too great without you either. All I have to show for the summer are some freshly mowed lawns, zero drowned children, and a deeply shameful walkman.” Ella furrowed her brows at this comment, yet she kept her blue eyes trained on the ceiling.

“What about the walkman is shameful?” She asked, and Max cursed himself inwardly for mentioning it.

“Its contents.” He groaned. Ella sat up suddenly and turned to him.

“Maxwell Alexander Robinson, did you listen to my music while I was gone?” She demanded, excitement reserved in anticipation behind her big blue eyes. Max shut his eyes tight in humiliation as he dug his hand into his pocket and retrieved the Def Leppard cassette.

“I’m only telling you this because you would’ve immediately noticed it was gone.” He said, trying to ignore her squeals and shrieks.

“YOU LIKE DEF LEPPARD NOW!!” She said, even doing a couple victory hops as she returned it to her own box of cassettes. Her container was an old quilted jewelry box that her father had given her shortly before his untimely demise, and she decorated it with band pins, political campaigner’s stickers, and band patches. She was humming to the tune of Pour Some Sugar On Me as she rocked her hips in time with the beat in her head. _Had her ass always looked like that?_

“No! No, I do not _like_ Def Leppard now, I only shamefully succumbed to stealing your shitty music because I missed my very best friend in the whole wide world enough to do that. I may be pathetic, but at least I’m not a fucking headbanger.” He said defensively, laughing at the end of the final sentence as she turned around to kick him playfully in the stomach.

“Fuck you, Max-Attack.” She muttered with a grin as she dropped onto his bean bag right next to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, and for some reason, even though they cuddled all the time, it felt different somehow. Like two big, soft twins were coming between them.

“You know, when you use your personal pet name for me and hug me directly following a ‘fuck you’, it really negates the sentiment.” He joked as she jabbed him in the side once more.

“Fuck you even harder!” She whined playfully, earning a chuckle from him until he finally relented and hugged her back, her head resting on his chest while her arms squeezed ever so slightly tighter around his waist.

“I really missed you while I was gone.” She murmured, the final notes of Fat Bottomed Girls giving way to the opening notes of Jealousy on record of Queen’s album, Jazz. Max nodded, something stirring in his guts as he held her, something seeming utterly different in his feelings towards her.

“I know. I missed you too, Hella-Ella.” He whispered. He felt her grinning against his chest as she shifted her hips. _Jesus christ, if you keep that up, I’ll need a pillow_. He thought, instantly confusing himself. Was he attracted to Ella?

What the hell was happening?

+

**July 3rd, 1994**

It was a busy night at Littlefinger’s, and Ella was thanking god for it. She had already earned $500 in tips, and it was only 11:00. Davos had recently gone under personal conflict with scheduling her for more hours, as she worked as a server for the diner in the morning, and a bartender for the pub in the evening, and she was always on her feet for long stretches of time, which was where his unease came into play. Earlier that week, she’d confronted him about her significant drop in scheduled hours. 

_Ella stormed into the bar at 4:00pm, one hour after the diner closed, one hour before the pub opened, the new schedule clutched in her hand before she slammed it down on the bar in front of Davos._

_“I just dropped out of my dream university to be working here full time, and now I’m supposed to be okay with getting half the hours I had last week?” She demanded as Davos took the stools down from the bar. He sighed and gave her an uneasy look, his eyes resting on her mid drift._

_“Ella, you’re six months pregnant. I worry about you being on your feet all the time.” He admitted slowly, not wanting to insult. She didn’t so much as blink._

_“And do you want my child to starve? Because I can’t live on what I’d be making with the current hours on schedule.” She said. She let the accusatory question hang in the air for a moment before softening ever so slightly. “Davos, I appreciate your concern, really I do, but I need you to let_ me _and_ me alone _worry about our health.” At this, she placed a hand on the swell of her belly. “Her dad is on the frontlines in Lorath, and I highly doubt we’d be getting anything in his will should he fall. My mum disowned me, my brother won’t talk to me, and my father is dead. I am the only person financially supporting my unborn daughter, and I_ cannot _do that with only twenty five hours of the week dedicated to earning money.” Ella said, clearly still frustrated, yet significantly more calm. Davos sighed as he rubbed his beard and nodded his head._

_“Alright. I’ll pencil you back in for normal hours.”_

Now the bar was crowded, the night was young, Fat Bottomed Girls by Queen was blasting, and _fuck_ she’d just dropped a shot glass. As she bent down to pick up the glass that had miraculously not shattered, thank the fucking lord, her co-worker, Nym, gave a quick whistle for her attention. 

“New guy in your section, El.” She said with her thick Dornish accent. Ella gave a quick thumbs up to her co-worker as she was facing away from the bar, cleaning off the dropped glass. 

“Hello sir, what can I get for you?” As soon as the words had left her mouth, Ella had turned around and was dumbstruck finding herself face to face with _him_. Max Robinson. The very same one who she’d grown up with and shared a childhood with, who she had called “Max-Attack” and the one for many years with whom she shared the label of “very best friends in the whole wide world”. It was the same Max Robinson who she hadn’t spoken to in nearly two years following _that night_. His dark hair was just as curly. His dark eyes were just as round and sweet. He’d gotten taller, filled out his frame with a bit more muscle, and he seemed just as shocked to be seeing her as she was to be seeing him. 

“Ella?” Suddenly the bar didn’t seem half as loud as it had been a moment before. The music, the voices, and all the noise drowned out, and all she heard was one stupid, perfect, insanely familiar American accent saying her name. It was in that moment that she became acutely aware of the fact that they hadn’t spoken in nearly two years, and there was an air of tension and uncertainty between them for the first time since they were eight years old. It was a tension that hung thick in the air until Ella’s face erupted into an enormous grin. 

“Max! Oh my god, let me come around the bar and give you a proper hug.” She said, and Max returned the gigantic smile. But as soon as he had his arms around her, he had jumped back, as if he’d been burned by a hot stove. 

“Woah! Ella, you’re— are— are you—?” Max’s face was all screwed up with furrowed brows and confusion and concern as he stared at her protruding belly. 

“Oh! Haha, yeah, I’m pregnant! Surprise!” She said, attempting to cover the discomfort with light hearted humor. It didn’t work. 

“Oh my god, wow, that’s— that’s crazy. And, uh, and how’s that working out with Vhagar College and the investigative journaling major?” He asked, his expression not changed at all. For some reason, Ella loved the way his white button down had the lightest stains of sweat, she loved the way his bow tie was hanging untied around his neck, as if he had just come from some fancy party, and _why was she thinking about this now?_

“It’s not. I dropped out last month so I could work full time and afford rent and all that.” Once she had said that, Max gave her that look. She hated that look. The look everyone gave her whenever they heard her story. Pity. Only this stung a hundred times more, because this was _Max_. Because he knew how much it meant to her that she get that degree. He knew _her_. So why did he pity her? _Don’t you remember me, Max? I can handle anything, why don’t you think I can handle this?_

“Ella, I’m— I’m so sorry, jesus that’s just— good god.” She took that moment to swing right back around behind the bar, neither of them knowing what to say until he spoke again. “And— And the father, is he— he’s still in the picture?” He asked, and she could sense a desperation in his voice. He _needed_ to hear something positive, something alright, just fucking _anything_ to make this more normal than it was because jesus fucking christ, this is what happens to girls on soap operas, not to Ella fucking Waters. 

“Um, maybe? He might just be dead, actually.” Max looked horrified at this. “Bob, her dad, is serving in active duty on the frontlines in Lorath, so I really don’t know if we’ll ever see him again. But if he does live to tell the tale, then yes, he’ll likely be in the picture.” Max seemed paralyzed. She grinned as she grabbed a Tully Ice bottled beer from the mini fridge below the counter. 

“I know it’s certainly not what I planned to be doing with my life in this city, but don’t you dare pity me, Maxwell. Believe it or not, I’m excited to be a mum, and I really like my job. I’ve got good co-workers, a great boss, the regulars are all great company, and I make enough money to get by.” At this assurance, Max seemed to soften a bit, smiling ever so cautiously and nod his head. She then uncapped the beer and put it in front of him. Tully Ice had always been his favorite. “On the house.” She said, and he shook his head with a smile. 

“Ella, I can’t—“ He began, but she shook her head. 

“Nonsense, Max. Do you think I’d make my very best friend in the whole wide world pay for a beer?” He paused just protest for a moment, the two of them looking into each other’s eyes for just a moment, and everything was quiet again. _Could there be something here?_

“I appreciate the gesture, but we just came in to use the bathroom.” He said, almost sheepishly. Ella furrowed her brows. 

“We?” No sooner had the words escaped her mouth than some brunette supermodel type appeared, laughing, and visibly drunk to clutch Max’s arm. 

“Come on, Maxy, we have to check into the hotel by midnight, or they won’t let us in!” She purred, her voice breathy and giggly. Max closed his eyes momentarily with an uncomfortable grin before looking back at his old friend. 

“Ella, this is my girlfriend, Cleo Lane. Cleo, I was just telling my old friend Ella here about how we’re just coming back from your cousin’s wedding and that’s why I’m in town.” Ella raised her brows at this, fighting back an unfamiliar surge of disappointment at this news. Cleo looked up at Max, her own brows furrowed before looking back to Ella and with an aloof air, reached her right hand over the bar to shake that of the pregnant blonde. 

“Nice to meet you.” The brunette offered, her voice indicating that their meeting was actually much less than nice. Ella nodded with the best politeness she could muster. 

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Cleo.” Once the introduction was done, there was an uncomfortable air hanging thick enough to suffocate until Cleo placed her hand on Max’s arm. 

“Maxy, I’m gonna go get us a cab.” She informed him. He nodded. 

“Okay. I’ll meet you out in a second.” He then leaned down and gave her a quick and gentle kiss, causing a stabbing pang of unfamiliar jealousy in Ella’s gut before Cleo slipped in between the mass of bodies and disappeared. Max turned back to his old friend who had raised brows and a closed mouth grin. 

“Maxy?” She asked, as it was all she could muster. He laughed and rolled his eyes in that way that was so very him before shaking his head. 

“I’ve been given worse nicknames. This one girl used to call me Max-Attack.” He said pointedly. _Why did that hurt so much to hear?_

“Touché, Maxwell.” She managed with a grin. There was a moment’s pause before Max spoke again. 

“Listen, I should go and check on Cleo, but it was... really _good_ to see you again, Ella.” He said. She nodded, biting back inexplicable tears. 

“Of course, go. It was good to see you, too, Max.” She managed, the two exchanging one last lingering smile before he disappeared to the cool night outside. Not a moment later, Ella had excused herself to the employee bathroom and found herself sobbing against the bathroom wall. Why was she crying? Nothing new or bad had happened. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had just let a billion dollars walk out the door with no protest. 

Approximately thirty seconds into her sobbing, Nym was pounding on the door demanding assistance. And as Ella began to wipe the tears from her sleeve, she felt a small kick against her belly from her sweet little daughter growing inside.

And then suddenly, as if by magic, everything felt alright. 

\+ 

Once Max had exited the bar, he instantly spotted Cleo in her red dress, holding the pair of uncomfortable white heels that he’d implored her not to wear. 

“Was that the same Ella who you told me about? Ella Waters?” She asked. He nodded, sticking his hands in his pockets. 

“One and the same.” He said. Cleo nodded before speaking back up. 

“You once told me you thought about her every night before you went to sleep. Do you think about her still?” She asked, the pause in between sentences speaking volumes as to what she was really asking. _Or do you think of me?_

Max looked back at the bar and then back at Cleo, a small and peaceful grin settling across his face as he took his girlfriend by the waist. 

“Not anymore.” He said, and the conversation ended with him kissing her deeply enough to wash away all the feelings that he had once felt for his very best friend in the whole wide world. 


End file.
